Remember Me
by LilyGhost
Summary: Memorial Day has always been more than just a holiday to Ranger and the Merry Men ... this year especially.


**This is for MamaJoyce for sharing Jesse's story with me, which inspired me to write this fictional one in his honor. He may be gone, but he definitely isn't forgotten. All familiar characters are Janet's. The mistakes are solely mine.**

"I just saw Cal ... and his eyes are all red. He tried to hide them from me with sunglasses before he left, but I still noticed. If it'd been me, I'd say crying caused it, but you guys don't do that on the job ..." I was saying as I knocked while opening the door of Ranger's office.

I stopped talking because he wasn't alone. Ranger was behind his desk, but knowing him as well as I do now, I can tell his thoughts are a million miles away. If he had to, he'd still be able to identify and kill a bad guy sneaking up behind him, but he likely wouldn't remember doing it. Tank, Bobby, and Lester, didn't look much better than Cal. The old Stephanie would've hightailed it outta here after sensing the intense emotion confined to this room. The new and improved Steph walked all the way into the office after shutting the door again so no one would hear what we said.

"This must be bad if you've circled the wagons," I said, testing out my right to be here, wanting to help them. "You four only stay grouped together like this when something extremely horrible has happened."

No one said anything, but Ranger held out a hand to me. I immediately took it and didn't feel at all embarrassed to sit down in his lap in front of everyone. His arms were almost painful as they closed around me. I didn't say anything more. I've learned that they'll talk when they're ready, or not at all, but I'm going to be here for them either way.

"Do you remember Sam Brooks?" Ranger finally asked.

"Of course. He was one of the Marines in the unit you were helping out when they were down a few men. We had dinner with him and his wife Morgan not long after he was released from the hospital. She and I were talking nieces, food, and shoes, the entire night, while you guys were discussing weapon changes and the friends you both have in common that we had to be worried about - and be sending care packages to - until they made it back home. You told me they had a little girl a few months ago. Oh, God ... their baby isn't sick, is she?"

"The baby's fine, but Sam's dead," Tank said, not mincing words.

Ranger gave him a warning stare, but I'm not a woman who needs to be shielded from reality anymore.

"What do you mean, he's dead?" I asked. "After all the things he survived, the operations he's been through, and hours of physical therapy he endured, I was thinking of him as bulletproof."

Every single one of them flinched.

"Shit. I'm sorry. What did I say wrong this time?"

"It's not you, Steph," Ranger assured me. "Sam was shot to death."

"Fuck," I said. "I'm so sorry. I really have to learn to think before I speak. He was murdered? No ... I don't believe it. He was such a sweet guy."

"He _was_. Some assholes should fucking _think_ before they pull a weapon on someone," Bobby bit out, "not just before they speak. Especially when they're clearly too stupid to be carrying in the first place if they didn't recognize what the fuck they were dealing with."

This I'm not used to. He and Lester, having been friends with Ranger before Rangeman came into existence, made them two of the more relaxed guys here. They aren't calm today, though.

"Do you know why he was killed? And who did it?"

It doesn't matter who it is, Ranger will hunt them down and make them pay. I have absolutely no doubt about that.

"The media can spew all the shit they want, but we know the truth," Lester said, again surprising me because instead of cracking a joke or teasing me, the wall of anger surrounding him was scaring me a little. "I'd bet my left nut that Sam wasn't even aware the cops were there until after they decided he was a threat that needed to be eliminated."

"Wait," I broke in, "he was shot by _the police_?"

"Occupational hazard of serving our country," he answered, with a heaping dose of bitterness.

"Sam was shot by a cop? Why? He's so polite and struck me as a by-the-book kind of guy. Ranger, you even said he was one of the men who never needed wrangling ... he wouldn't go off half-cocked. Just having dinner with him convinced me that he'd give you the shirt off his back if you didn't have one. I remember Morgan saying how Sam would switch to handing out hundreds if he found out the homeless person they stopped to talk to was a Vet, too. He wouldn't randomly go after a cop. This doesn't make any sense."

"No ... it doesn't," Ranger told me. "But that doesn't stop it from happening."

"But some of my friends are cops. Eddie would _never_ shoot anyone unless he had absolutely no other choice. Carl or Big Dog, either."

"But how easily could you picture Morelli firing at someone who didn't snap to attention when he started issuing orders?" He asked me.

That one I _could_ picture. If Joe tells you to do something and you refuse, it gets his arms waving and jacks-up his temper, adrenaline, and blood pressure. I'd like to think he wouldn't kill someone without the person attempting to kill him first, but I admit ... the doubt is there.

Bobby had calmed himself down a little and started talking again. "I can see it play out like I was in the fucking car with him, because I _have_ been in a car, at home, or in a store, with someone when something we weren't expecting triggered their or my PTSD. If a civilian wife of a once active duty Marine can figure out how to help her man through a flashback, the police should have a little of the same knowledge. And if they don't ... they shouldn't be allowed near a fucking weapon. This shit is dangerous to people dealing with PTSD and Autism, where unpredictable behaviors are a by-product. The sufferers become victims all over again, no matter how much progress they've made in beating the odds stacked against them."

I know almost nothing about Autism and only a little about Combat PTSD, but Ranger has been expanding my knowledge on that one by explaining what 'triggers' are and what they could do to one of my guys if something on a job reminded them of their past lives, so I was picturing the worst.

"Did he think he was back in Afghanistan?" I asked.

"That's the hell of it," Tank said, "he may have been reliving something in his mind, but his body wasn't doing a damn thing, let alone something threatening. He wasn't ignoring the cop, he wasn't 'acting suspiciously', and he sure as fuck wasn't doing anything illegal. He was even tough enough to immediately pull over before he retreated into himself to keep innocent people from getting hurt. And once again, he got shot for being the good guy he was."

"The news, and newspaper in their town, has been rubbing salt in a very open wound for Morgan, blaming Sam for making the 'poor officers' have to shoot him," Lester said.

"Sam is ... _was ..._ always a fighter," Ranger began. "Not in the dickhead sense, although he could hold more than his own in any bar fight. He never started trouble, didn't even look for it. He was the exact opposite. He spent his entire career trying to keep his men and himself out of it."

"I'm having a hard fucking time using past tense when talking or thinking about him," Bobby admitted to us. "After the first time it happens, you start expecting news like this. It's a fear we, and their families, all live with when someone you care about comes home, but it still kicks you in the teeth and gut each time."

I've heard the words 'in shock' thrown around a lot, usually said about me after a particularly nasty disaster, but I never pictured it being applied to these guys. Clearly they aren't shocked that they lost another of their 'brothers', but it's even harder on them when they flat-out know someone died who shouldn't have.

"I'm not good when it comes to dealing with things like this," I started, "but I do know you have to remember how Sam _lived_ , not just stay focused on how he _died_. I can still see how his dark eyes shot to Morgan every time she laughed when I didn't think he was even listening to us. I compared that to how The Boss here grins whenever I roll my eyes or sigh loudly. Those two were going to go the distance."

"Yeah ... and now they don't get to see if you're right. How the fuck are we supposed to forget what was done to him?" Tank asked, his pissed-off mood in full effect. "First, his 'family' all but kills him, then the cops finish the job ... after everything he's sacrificed for his men and his country."

"There's no forgetting how horrific this is. But don't let Sam get lost in your anger. This was wrong, _so fucking wrong_ , but he's so much more than a five-second news story."

I choked on the words as I pictured his eyes crinkling as Morgan teased him about his need to always _scarf_ his food, never taking time to actually _chew_ and enjoy it. What was astounding to me, is after various surgeries to amputate half of his left leg and arm from an 'unfortunate encounter' - his words not mine - with an IED, and trial and error attempts to find replacements that worked for him, he hadn't completely lost his sense of humor. He survived so much to be lost to such stupidity. Friendly fire is also tossed around a lot, but it isn't supposed to be said _here_... in our own country when it comes to someone trying to readjust to his life after enduring nightmare after nightmare just to get back to it.

I can't make this better or easier for any of them, but I kept them all in Ranger's office until their emotions had been expressed and then hidden away again. I don't care if anyone knows that I'm upset or pissed off, but the 'robotic' way they do their jobs, that assholes like Morelli like to make fun of out of pure jealousy in my opinion, is something they have perfected to protect themselves from ignorant a-holes like Joe, from more hurt, and as an emotional barrier between themselves and tragedies like this one, as much as they're trying to protect others from the full-force of their emotions.

"Funeral's on Friday," Ranger said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.

"I want to go with you if that's alright. I don't want to know any of this happened, but ..."

"We understand, Steph," Bobby told me. "We appreciate you wanting to be there with us. And we want you to be, just because you're remembering why he's a brother we'll never forget."

"I didn't know him in the way you all did, yet I can't picture the world without him in it."

"You get used to feeling that way, but it never gets easier to accept," Ranger said, as his hands clenched each other where they rested against my side.

"How are you guys able to keep going through this?" I asked, really wanting to know. "It's bad enough losing someone in battle during an actual war, but to have to worry about something similar happening after you made it back home seems even worse."

Although Sam was a _Marine_ , not an _Army Ranger_... he's still a family member in their minds because they were fighting to keep each other alive.

Ranger answered again. "You just do. There isn't an alternative."

I stuck close to him that night and made sure the guys knew I was available to talk if they needed to, day or night. They kept their grief and anger private, but they didn't tell me to knock it off when I asked them if they were alright or needed something. And they didn't object to me standing at Ranger's side - and theirs - on the day of the funeral.

What was like another wound-twist, to an outside observer Friday couldn't have looked more perfect. It was warm for May ... just about to hit 80, with an unfairly blue sky. Fairy tale clouds and random birds were the only things that momentarily blocked the sun every few seconds throughout the afternoon. My eyes stung as I scanned the houses we passed on the way to the church and then the cemetery afterwards, where kids in shorts played basketball in their driveways, or people were lighting up their grills for pre-holiday get-togethers. The increasing traffic on the road suggested some were heading out early for their mini-vacations over the long weekend.

We, on the other hand, are on our way to say goodbye to someone who'll never do any of those things again. Sam will _never_ get to watch his daughter playing in their yard, he's not here to man the grill or schedule some fun in the form of a vacation. Maybe his soul is at peace, but ours are still too fucking pissed about this to be.

"You okay?" Ranger asked me, just before we reached the cemetery after leaving a service that didn't leave a dry eye in the room.

Ranger and I wanted to get to the cemetery before everyone else in case Morgan needed something or a last-minute problem had to be handled.

"No," I answered, "but I know this is a million times harder for you and the guys, so I'm going to suck it up and pretend I don't need to cry again."

"You'll be crying for us all if you do."

With a handful of Rangeguys soon to be parking around us, we got out of the Cayenne and walked to the place I really wish we never needed to go to. Morgan was already at the gravesite holding Sasha. They were both wearing black, and while Morgan and I dressed similarly, the two of us choosing simple, no-frills sheath dresses, Sasha's outfit broke my heart. Their daughter was wearing a dress that was so tiny and too somber a color for a baby as beautiful as she is. It had puffy sleeves and a bell-shaped skirt, and she had on white tights and shiny black shoes with bows on the buckles to go with it. That Sasha needed a funeral outfit, for one of her own parents, at four-months-old made me sick and angry all over again.

"I'm going to go talk to Morgan," I told Ranger. " _Thank God_ I don't know what she's going through personally, but I have a frightening idea of what it'd do to me if I lost you. Maybe I can help ... or at least I can give her hurt, grief, and rage, a target."

"Don't hurt yourself for the sake of others, Babe. This isn't your fight."

"Yeah, it is. Sam was one of your people, which makes him, Morgan, and Sasha, three of mine."

"She isn't likely to be in a friendly mood," he warned me.

"I wouldn't expect her to be. If something happened to you, I'd claw the face off anyone who even hinted that I'd be okay without you."

He yanked me to him, wrapped me in a bear hug, and spoke into my hair. "That's why I've been careful with the jobs I've accepted. I can't take something hurting you even if I was gone and wouldn't be around to see it."

"It's selfish to want you here with me instead of saving people across the globe, but I can't thank you enough for being choosier now. I'll warn you right now, whatever you were feeling when I was kidnapped by Con and you couldn't find me, or when you saw me dangling over and then falling into the river, is _nothing_ compare to the disaster I'd be if you were hurt more than I could help heal."

"I got that, Babe."

"Good. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"And like always, I'll be waiting impatiently."

I kissed him and tried not to get my heels stuck in the grassy pathway as I took a shortcut to Morgan. Ranger once told me that while he knew he had a purpose in life, _I'm_ what has breathed life into him. But really ... I know if _I_ was in Morgan's shoes, not even with every Rangeguy holding me up would I be able to breathe, let alone be standing at his grave trying to make sure our daughter wasn't crying as much as I wanted to. For a small woman, Morgan's tough as hell.

"I know it's stupid to ask how you're doing," I said, making sure she heard me approach so I wouldn't startle her, "because there probably aren't any words that can describe it."

She turned her head towards me and attempted what I knew was supposed to be a smile. "I've used _a lot_ of words this past week, before and after you and Ranger stopped by the house, but I can't repeat any of them in front of Sash."

I tried out my own smile on the brown-eyed mini-beauty who was shyly glancing at me, and then tucking her head back beneath her mom's chin when she caught me looking at her.

"You can call me later tonight after she's asleep and let 'em rip," I offered.

"Don't be surprised if I do. Not many people know what to say to me right now. They liked Sam, it's impossible not to, but now there's this suspicion and doubt that's been shoved down their throats. Was he really an innocent victim in this? Or because he occasionally acted differently than their 9 to 5 spouses, he'd been asking for something bad to happen by attempting to live a normal life? I mean, how dare he try to be happy? He signed his life away for his country, but I guess he wasn't supposed to have one of his own once he was home. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be dumping all of this on you. It's just hard to know how easily people can be swayed, even the ones you thought you knew."

"Don't be sorry. Whatever you want or need to get out, I'm hear to listen to."

"Depending on the situation, Sam's reactions ran the gamut anywhere from hyperaware to completely withdrawn, almost zombie-like, so and I quote ' _they can see how the police could have been confused_ '. That's bullshit to me ... and it's not getting any easier to point out. If I try to explain what happened, my hand or my arm gets a sympathetic and condescending pat because it's expected that I'd defend my husband and say he wasn't to blame. I still can't believe that after three separate deployments to various hellholes, for months at a time, _twice_ to places he and his buddies still have nightmares about what they experienced there ... my Sammy gets killed five minutes away from home by two officers our tax dollars were paying to protect us."

She took a breath and tried to choke back a fresh sob. It didn't work as well as she wanted it to.

"I've loved Sam since I was seven-years-old and not even conscious of what 'being in love' meant. When he finally returned the favor when we were both sixteen, I was lucky to be able to recognize how special and rare it is to love someone with your entire being and have it returned with interest. His family did nothing but hurt him, but I swore I never would. Even when we were kids, I knew he was a piece of me I couldn't live without. And now I have to find a way to do exactly that for our daughter's sake, because I know I couldn't do it for mine alone."

I watched her arms briefly tighten around Sasha and I tried not to think anymore ... but that's _all_ I've been doing ever since I was slammed face-first into reality when I'd barged into Ranger's office early Monday morning. In this case, _thinking_ is actually preferable to _feeling_. What hit me the hardest is the red heart stitched like a badge of honor on the front of Sasha's black dress. The words " _Forever Daddy's Girl_ " were sewn in white within the heart ... right over her own. Morgan didn't just lose her husband, their daughter won't remember anything about her Daddy except for what she's told when she gets older. Not only was the world robbed of a special, selfless, strong and strong-willed, hero of a man ... Sasha's Daddy was snatched away from her before she had a chance to find any of that out for herself.

"In less than two seconds, two lives were taken," Morgan continued after a few more deep breaths to keep hyperventilation at a distance. "Sam's ... and mine right along with it. It seems so unreal and so stupid, how innocent actions can lead to such a devastating tragedy. All my husband did was try to protect himself ... first from a noise that was all too familiar to him, then from the memories the sound triggered, and last from what he temporarily assumed was a threat to him. We all found out how real a threat the cops were, though. If he fought them at all, it wasn't intentional. In his mind, he would've only been trying to save himself and his men from an enemy attacking."

"Is it alright to ask you what really happened?"

"You'd be only one of a handful that does. What made Sam even more impressive to me, is he fought through the fear and the memories to get himself off the road before he fully succumbed to what that telltale whistle and pop signified to him, as it came at him from the front yard of a house he'd been passing by. To the kids playing with 'grown-up' toys, it was just a single firework they probably stole from an adult and then quickly fired off before they got caught. To me, it was a death sentence about to be carried out."

"That's what Ranger and the guys have told me, that holidays that use fireworks to celebrate, are hard on them. Last year, for the week of the Fourth, Bobby organized a Rangeman camping trip headed to Middle of Nowhere, PA for any of the guys who were worried about firework-flashbacks. They even asked if I wanted to come. I hate just the _concept_ of camping, but if Ranger had been free, I would've gone just to support them."

"It makes me furious as hell, that instead of just sticking to advertised public firework shows on the _actual holiday_ itself so families like ours can prepare for it, people still have to randomly shoot them off at home whenever the hell they feel like it, giving us no warning. And it's men and women like my Sam who end up paying the price for them. What makes me see red is fireworks are actually illegal in our state. But because they bring in money and they give people the flash and bang of war with no real risk ... if they're at least responsible in that way using them. They're allowed to drink beer and laugh as stuff goes boom and explodes around them, while my Sam was remembering what explosives did to him, just before he got to bleed and die. I apologize again. I'm just still so, so angry. If I didn't have Sash to cling to and take care of, I'd be trying to cram myself in-between our mattress and box spring in an attempt to hide from all of this."

"I think you're being heroically calm right now, considering how wrong this is. The possibility of this happening should be discussed more and a solution figured out, starting with enforcing the actual law."

"The 'discussion' stopped at offering signs that say 'A _Combat Veteran Lives Here. Please Be Courteous With Fireworks.'_ Not only wouldn't that have saved him, since we didn't live on that street, and what would children know about how Veterans suffer almost more _after_ they come home? Why should my husband have to expose himself by publicly stating he has a few issues caused by what he did and saw _somewhere else_ for all of us _here,_ when the biggest trigger for him is already _illegal_? _The parents_ should've been the ones questioned by the cops that day ... not my Sammy."

"I can't agree enough. I'm going to ask Ranger what I can do about it. He's put his heart and money into making the lives of returning Veterans better, Rangeman is a prime example of that, and as the 'First Woman' of the company, and having the boss' ear - among other things - it's time I become more involved in things outside of catching skips. If at any time you're looking for a distraction, when you can't sleep or just need something for your mind to focus on, we can work together on this."

"Nobody stops to think that firecrackers lit while strung together ... can sound like rapid rifle-fire. If anyone cared, they'd know that to Vets like Sam or Ranger, the whistle-sound bottle rockets make before popping ... could be mistaken for an incoming explosive set to take out their mess hall. Those loud boomer ones with colors or no color ... are RPGs going off or an incoming mortar round exploding in their minds. They survived war zones and all of those things being shot at them ... for us. And if they're lucky ... they get to come home, but they end up being hurt by them all over again because of _us_ this time _,_ 'a grateful nation', not our enemies. Yeah, we're _grateful_... as long as it doesn't interfere with our own lives as theirs are being forever changed, we pledge to support our troops as long as it doesn't alter how we entertain ourselves."

She paused to kiss Sasha, whose chubby little baby arms were hugging her mom's neck harder. Morgan slid a hand over the whispy auburn hair as she continued to talk. I was surprised that I was fighting the urge to touch that baby fine hair myself. Maybe from a psychological standpoint, interacting with something as innocent as a baby, cancels out some of the ugliness in the world.

"To pass the time, and to not go completely insane worrying about him, when Sam was deployed this last time, I stayed busy trying to make sure this homecoming would be easier on him than the last two had been. I was politely assured that the horror stories I'd heard about police officers not knowing how to diffuse a PTSD-caused situation wouldn't happen where we live. I should've known better. Every holiday is an excuse to blow stuff up, and it kills me that I was so focused on getting everything done before Sash's naptime, I didn't stop and think that fireworks would be going off everywhere as we counted down the days to Memorial Day."

She was outright crying now, her sobs shaking Sasha's little body. I couldn't take it. This couldn't be described as pain ... it was outright agony, for Morgan and for anyone witnessing it. I put my hand on the arm she had around her baby and just tried to lend her moral support and an ironclad grip on an increasingly close friendship.

"God help me," she said sniffling, "I didn't think a quick trip to the store to get the diapers I still _hate_ myself for forgetting to pick up, would cost me the love of my life. The _only_ serious love I've had outside of the daughter we made together."

"Oh God, Sam was on a diaper run?"

"Yes. It's something I'll _never_ forgive myself for. Had I just pulled back out of the driveway immediately after I first thought that I might have forgotten them, he would've still been at home watching a game or attempting to fix something he didn't think was working properly. Sash was hungry after a morning of errands, and since it was still early, I hadn't pumped yet so I didn't have many options. She came first. Had I just kept my mouth shut about being dumb and forgetting to grab something on my list, Sam wouldn't have needed to be SuperDad and save me a trip by getting some while I was feeding our baby. I want to throw up every time I think back to hearing our front door open and close, but at the time I was just so friggin' proud of him. He had healed so much ... his body and his mind. He was able to run out for something without needing to ask for help first. I even told Sash as he pulled out of the driveway, that she should be so proud of Daddy for going off and saving us again ... but then I ruined our lives and ended his by not being there to save _him_."

"You couldn't have predicted what would happen," I tried to assure her.

Her laugh didn't hide her anger and I thought back to the bitterness pouring off the guys as we all sat in Ranger's office a lifetime ago.

"Unfortunately, I could. I'm sure Ranger and Tank have already told you how often this happens. Sometimes it's caused by the sound of a car backfiring, others it's jackhammers working to fix a street, an accidental bump by someone on a busy subway or in a crowded store, or it could just be a certain smell, or clothes someone's wearing. I've seen Sam tense up whenever he had to drive past random pieces of trash that were lying in the middle of the road or we had to drive under an overpass. They had all learned that explosives are everywhere or can be thrown at them at any time."

"Jesus," I whispered. "Ranger's driving zone is suddenly making more sense."

"These are issues we all have to face when we love someone like Sam and Ranger. It's different than what people think. You don't kiss and wave goodbye to your husband or wife as they get on a plane, then hit pause on both of your lives and get your partner back months later just as you left them. You're both different people and you have to adapt after each deployment and homecoming ... and change yourself, your thinking, or your life, accordingly. But to have him in my life was worth every scare I went through and all the months I spent waiting for just a phone call telling me he was still alive. His mother and sister may have been plotting an all-expenses paid shopping spree courtesy of his death benefits if they got lucky and he was killed overseas, but I thanked God every day for him and prayed like hell that he'd survive and come home to me any way he could. I promised myself - and him - that I'd be the only family he'd ever need."

"Jesus ... and I thought my family was bad."

"When he told me that he went home all excited to tell them that he was finally going to be a Marine, a dream he's had since he was ten, and found out that his 'family' was actively and happily hoping he'd die, we both lost it. I made damn sure they would never get rewarded for putting a price tag on my Sam's head and killing part of his soul long before he had to experience the horrors of war. I couldn't imagine what kind of monster would do that to their own child. After having Sash, it's even harder to comprehend. Despite everything and everyone I tried to protect him from, Sasha and I are the ones left without him in the end."

She seemed to be trying to compose herself, but we both know there's no chance of appearing okay here, for either of us. But she's clearly stronger than I am, because she was able to speak before I could.

"The two 'professionals' who pulled up to his car should've known how to approach him ... between two people there should've been at least _one_ working brain cell that could've identified the situation for what it really was, especially after they walked up to his vehicle and saw all the modifications done to it so Sam could be completely independent again. He had a 'Veteran' license plate, for God's sake. What more did they need? ' _ **Don't Shoot!**_ ' scrawled across his back window?"

"I'm so sorry," I said, trying to wipe the tears off my cheeks before she saw them. She has enough pain to wade through, she doesn't need mine heaped onto it. "I don't know what to say except that I promise to do whatever I can to keep this from happening again, and to make sure Sam is remembered for the husband, father, friend, and hero, he was. I'm not the best bounty hunter, but I can sniff out and report facts with the best of them. And as a result ... my face and 'adventures' tend to wind up on the front page. Your paper may enjoy perpetuating fiction, but mine likes to talk about anything I'm involved in. For the first time, the Burg grapevine can be used for something good."

"Thank you. It would help, not just Sam and I, but also Sash when she's older so she can read something positive about her Daddy that'll back up everything I've said about him. _He_ wasn't the issue ... and no one wants to admit it or talk about it because it goes against all the 'Support Our Veterans' car magnets. They didn't have to touch their weapons at all. I can see Sam so clearly in my mind, because I've been there right beside him each time he's come home and had to readjust to a 'normal' life again. Through every thunderstorm, random firework crack, and repeated _'I'll never be clean again_ ' shower episodes, I did what I vowed to do when he and I got married ... to love him in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

I flinched like the guys did when I'd put my foot in my mouth, but I reacted to the pain in her voice, not the stupidity of something I'd said.

"In my case," she said after a few seconds, "I guess I'll have to add that I'll love him _after death_ as well. I've done _my_ part for the country, not making my husband choose between me and what he always believed was his duty. We held up our end on the War On Terror. While I know there are incredible police officers everywhere willing to risk their lives for their community, like my Sam promised to do for our country until he wasn't physically able to anymore, but up until Ranger stepped in, those two were still getting paid for killing one of the good guys ... the best guy ... _my guy_. Sam didn't live through losing almost everything on his left side ... the majority of his hearing and most of his arm and leg, far away ... just to die from close-range gunshots at home. But he did."

She tucked her face against her daughter's. It's like they are their own little island now in the middle of a sea of people wanting to help them, but no one can. The only thing that can make any of this better is Sam back here laughing at the huge fuss we're making and all the tears we're producing because we miss him.

"I've been repeating what I told myself ever since Sam and I found out I was pregnant with Sasha ... _'you have to be strong for her'_. I _will_ be strong for both of them or I didn't ever deserve to be his wife. I may not have Sam, but I have his memory, his daughter, and his honor to defend. And if it's the _last_ thing I do, despite who it pisses off, I'm going to make damn sure no one else is killed over something that's a result of what we as a country wave them off to do somewhere else so we don't have to witness or take responsibility for the dirty work ourselves."

I glanced around at the people who had arrived at the cemetery as she and I were talking. The sheer number of all who showed up to say their final goodbyes to their friend, their mentor, and their brother, was almost as impressive as the man himself. To the ones in uniform who came from all across the country, possibly from other corners of the world, to be here ... Sam was literally a lifesaver.

Morgan had also scanned the crowd. "It's a cruel twist of fate to know that the man they credit for keeping them alive, had to die ... not overseas, not at the hands of terrorists, but here ... just two streets away from our first home together. _Why?_ Is the question I've been asking myself every other minute. _Why_ did I have to be stupid and forget to pick up some Pampers? _Why_ didn't I hurry after him when I heard his car keys jingle in his hand just before he reached the door ... and instead insist he stay home for some daddy/daughter time while go to the store later? _Why_ couldn't those kids have waited five freakin' minutes so he would've been far enough away to shoot off something they shouldn't even have had access to?"

"Were the parents or kids ever spoken to?"

"I'm not sure. I stopped caring about the details when they started blaming Sam for everything. Call me crazy, but as the wife who loves him, it feels like they're all but suggesting he built the bottle rocket and then lit the thing himself. Why did it have to be _my_ husband who was interrogated and attacked for just sitting still, one good hand and one he was still getting used to, on the steering wheel ... fighting to breathe through all kinds of pain? I _know_ from similar situations I've been in with him, he wasn't shouting threats or waving a gun around, he likely wasn't moving at all until someone touched the car or him. The blast from the IED affected the hearing in his left ear so he would've had a hard time hearing them even if he wasn't suffering a flashback."

She let Sasha's puffy sleeve absorb a new wave of tears. They've been free-flowing since I'd approached her, and she gave up trying to brush them all away. An occasional one-handed nose-blow was all she'd allow herself.

"Sam was the perfect husband, already a besotted and proud daddy, and a completely loyal friend to a great bunch of guys. I was very free with my opinion that his relatives are all insane, but _he_ was never a loose cannon. His life and career were centered around helping people. He never once acted 'crazy', or appeared to be a ticking time bomb. _The officers_ were the bombs that day, and they effectively blew my family apart. I should've jumped up and stopped him. If I had, Sam's feelings would've been hurt, thinking I didn't trust him to do something as simple as running to the store, but he'd still be alive. I'll never forget the happy-sounding cadence to his whistle as he went off to save the day. His confidence as a Marine, as my man, and as a provider for his family, was returning daily after we faced many uphill battles. In those few minutes before he left, he wasn't just a highly decorated Vet everyone who served with him respected ... he was _Sash's Daddy_ and _My Savior_ , willing to do anything or go anywhere for us. In my eyes, he was more a hero that morning than he ever was overseas. God ... I miss him so much already and it hasn't even been a full week yet."

A familiar arm slid around my shoulders, causing my neck tingle to intensify. "Are you two alright?" Ranger asked us.

He's the only person I can say anything to. " _No_ ," I admitted on a hiccupy-sob, turning to look at him through swollen red eyes. My crying matched the actual widow's at that point. "Morgan's definitely _not_ okay. And I'm not doing so well myself. This is why all your buildings and vehicles are as soundproof as you can make them, isn't it?"

"Yes. No one wants to think too hard about the dangers lurking around every corner at home, but it's a fact ... you pack up and carry your war back with you."

"Sam and I were actually doing okay," she told us. "He'd finally worked out his role as a full-time hubby and daddy, while not worrying so much about not being the 'typical' anything, but now not only is my best friend gone, I have to spend the rest of my life trying to explain to our daughter why her daddy, who literally left pieces of himself in Afghanistan and fought like hell just to make it home home, was killed in our own town just for sitting peacefully in his friggin' car. I don't have a freakin' clue how I'll manage that one when I still don't understand how it could happen myself."

"Whatever you and Sasha need," Ranger told her, "we'll get you, or help you with. I can't bring Sam back for you _, for us_ , but I promise to do what I can for his wife and daughter."

"Thanks. I appreciate that. It's clear why Sam thought so highly of you. I warned Stephanie that I could be calling and passing through Trenton a lot just because you, Tank, Cal, Bobby, and Lester, are ties to him."

"I think you should stop by Rangeman as often as you can," I told her. "You, me, and Ella, can amuse Sasha as we talk about everything ... or nothing. You won't have to pretend to be alright or happy, or feel bad if we manage to get a laugh out of you. Our building is a judgment-free zone."

I leaned heavily into Ranger as Morgan went quiet. Sasha finally felt brave enough to release her mom in order to look directly at us ... or more accurately at _my guy_. He reached out and wrapped his fingers gently around her tiny fist and he gave her a gentle smile and her hand a small shake. Like she was being prompted by someone to do it, Sasha smiled back. It was such an all-encompassing grin, her tongue stuck out adorably between her lips and gums.

"She's so cute it hurts, isn't she?" Morgan asked us. "I get that most moms think their kids are the smartest and most beautiful, but Sash has Sam's hair, eyes, smile, and that irresistible charm that can make even the crustiest Colonel crack."

"She's definitely beautiful," I told her. "I know nothing about kids outside of babysitting for Valerie and my best friend occasionally, but I can see that Sasha is perfect. Something tells me that she's going to make you and Sam extremely proud. She can't help it if she's like her parents. She's been your rock today already."

"I'm grateful and deeply thankful that I have her so I don't have to contemplate how I'm going to get through this. I have no choice but to survive because she needs me. I can't help but think that Memorial Day is only a few days away," she said, her eyes fixed on something in the cemetery no one else can see. "And while we're being told to remember all the Vets who have fought and died for our country, some ways they choose to do that are actually hurting the ones who've done their time in hell and are now just trying to recover from it. I'm all for honoring those who are no longer here, I think it should be a _requirement_ , but for the love of God ... in the process of doing that, don't forget to think about, support, and protect, the men and women you're lucky enough to still have with you _on_ this earth, not buried beneath it."

 **A/N: If you think a fireworks sign could help a loved one, a few versions of them can be purchased online.**


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